


i've been reading the stars

by thistidalwave



Category: Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Matt has been in love with Nick for years. He's about to have the most confusing and emotional two weeks of his life thus far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've been reading the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you and hugs to Becca, Calley, Lucy, and Sally for reading along, talking plot ideas, and just generally being helpful for the creation of this fic. :D
> 
> There's an accompanying mix for this [here](http://8tracks.com/thistidalwave/i-ve-been-reading-the-stars), although it's not as beautifully crafted as Finchy would do. ;)

Nick walks into the tea shop on a perfectly normal Tuesday afternoon, and Matt’s breath catches in his throat, just like it does every time he sees Nick.

It’s an embarrassment, really. Matt should know how to hold it together better than this--he’s a _professional_ , god damn it--but he seems to lose all semblance of control at the sight of Nick’s floppy fringe. He’s been this way for as long as he can remember, ever since he met Nick when they were both young university students bumbling around aimlessly. There’s no hope left for him at this point. 

“Hey there, Matty,” Nick says, leaning against the counter. “Y’get anymore of that stuff I like?” 

“You sound like you’re trying to conduct a subtle drug deal,” Matt says, because Nick also breaks his filter and causes him to say stupid things. He’s used to it by now. “Badly, I might add.”

Nick pouts, lower lip sticking out dramatically. “The _tea_ , then. The one that tastes like, whaddya call it, the stuff you use in baking?”

“Vanilla,” Matt supplies. He’s already got a tin of the kind of tea Nick is talking about set aside for him, but Nick doesn’t need to know that. 

“Yes!” Nick says, grinning. “Only better and with added chocolate. I want to know how they put that in a tea.”

Matt makes a show of banging around looking like he’s a competent worker getting tea for a customer. “It’s a very complex process,” he says just for something to say.

“It’s magic,” Nick says. “Couple chants over some bog standard leaves and presto, exactly the flavour you want.”

Matt rolls his eyes at the back wall, then turns around to give Nick his container. Nick hands him exact change in return, smiling like he has a particularly good secret. Matt sighs as he rings up the transaction. “What’s that look for then?” 

“Snagged an invite to a pretty hot party this weekend,” Nick says. He works at the radio station across the street--nothing too big, not yet, but he’s steadily working his way up there, and it appears to involve a lot of parties. “You wanna be my plus one?” 

“Depends,” Matt says. “Does this ‘invite’ involve sneaking in through the kitchens again? Because I think the once was enough.”

Nick scoffs. “Don’t be silly, Finchy, it’s a proper invite. Greg invited me.” He sniffs like he’s trying to be the bloody Queen or something. Please. Matt has seen him hiding in a coat check because he snogged the wrong model and has an entire entourage hellbent on finding him and disemboweling him or whatever it is those industry types do. 

“Well, all right,” Matt says, taking his mobile out of his pocket to check his schedule. He flips through the events to the weekend and stares at Saturday. “Er, is that on Friday?” he tries.

“Nah, Saturday,” Nick says. He’s busied himself flipping through the display of CDs in front of the till.

“Oh,” Matt says. He can’t believe he’d forgotten. Not that it had actually slipped his mind--quite the opposite, actually--he just hadn’t realised it was coming up so soon. “It’s just that I’ve got a gig that night.”

Nick’s head snaps up and he nearly knocks over the display, hastily straightening a CD. “Have you? Sod Greg, then, I’ll come to that instead. Where?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead grabbing Matt’s phone out of his hand and looking at the details for himself. He gapes at the screen for a long moment, then starts laughing. Matt worries at his lower lip. “You’re DJ’ing one of the most important parties, Finchy, why on Earth didn’t you tell me sooner? You must have booked this _weeks_ ago!”

More like months, actually, but Matt isn’t going to say that. “I’ve been trying not to think about it, honestly,” Matt admits. “I kept expecting them to ring me back and tell me they’ve got someone better.”

“Ridiculous,” Nick says. “They can’t have. They’ve you.”

Matt pretends his cheeks aren’t flushing pink. “It’s not that big a party, you’re exaggerating,” he says defensively. “And I’m only the beginning of the night, not when it really matters.”

“Shut up, if I was going on about how it’s a big deal that I got an invite to this party, it’s a big deal that you’re DJ’ing it.”

Matt shrugs. Nick’s always been the more successful of them, better at networking and extra-curriculars in uni, while Matt had been all studying all the time and ended up out of school, owner of a shiny degree and a bit confused about what he was going to do with his life. He’d briefly considered radio production, but he hadn’t wanted to seem like he was just trailing in Nick’s footsteps, especially since he got that accusation enough already. So the tea shop and trying to score DJ gigs it is. Matt’s all right with it. He likes his life.

“Hey, I’ve got to get back, but we should go out for drinks later,” Nick says, holding Matt’s phone out to him. He’s still grinning. Matt can’t remember the last time he saw Nick so happy, but he thinks Nick might have been drunk at the time. “To celebrate, yeah?”

“Yeah, all right,” Matt agrees, taking his phone. He feels like he’s choking on his tongue, and when he tries to swallow to fix it, he only manages to make it worse. “Text me?”

Nick nods, brandishing his own mobile in reply as he walks away. 

Matt sits down on a stool and puts his face in his hands. He’s pretty sure that moving up in the world is supposed to make him feel more secure and comfortable in his life, not like he’s losing control of everything he’s ever properly understood. 

“It’s just a party,” he tells himself. “It’s just music. You understand music. It’s days away. You’re fine.”

Then he realises that he’s talking to himself like a lunatic and abruptly gets up to go clean something thoroughly. The counters have been looking a little bit less than shining, he’s sure.

-

Nick is trying to force alcohol on Matt, has been all night, with his bright smile and and his refusal to take no for an answer, and Matt keeps taking it because he can’t stand to disappoint Nick without a good reason. Everything is slightly fuzzy, Nick’s face smudging at the edges, and Matt reaches out to touch. He misses, just barely grazing Nick’s ear with his fingertips, and Nick laughs at him, deafening like the chorus to that annoying song everyone secretly loves. 

“What are you doing, flailing about?” he asks. “Do I need to take this back?” He tries to tug Matt’s beer away from him, but Matt tightens his grip on it. 

“No,” he says. “Mine.”

Nick laughs again. “All right, all right, I’ll let you have this one.” He’s on his phone, texting someone. Matt feels stupidly jealous. He takes a swig of his beer to disguise it from himself and anyone else who might be lurking in his head noticing his emotions.

“Ready to go soon?” Nick asks.

Matt frowns, checking his own phone for the time. It’s gotten late fast, and normally he _would_ leave around now, but he doesn’t like that Nick texted someone and then wanted to leave. He’s not proud, but there it is. “Let’s dance,” he decides, slipping off his barstool and tugging Nick’s arm.

They’re not exactly in the type of place where people dance, per se, but there’s music playing and that’s excuse enough. Nick goes along with him, swaying with him next to the bar and smiling at him. 

“What?” Matt asks self-consciously. “What’re you grinning at?” 

“You, you lump,” Nick says. “You’re completely off your face.”

“I am not!” Matt protests indignantly. He has a half a mind to cross his arms, but he manages to repress his inner six year old. 

Nick’s grin only spreads. “You are,” he says. 

“No!” Matt says, because it’s the principle of the thing. He tries to hit Nick in the arm, but it turns out more like stroking at Nick’s bicep. It’s just such a nice bicep. 

“All right.” Nick rolls his eyes and slides the arm Matt was stroking around Matt’s back to support him. Matt lets his own arm flop around Nick’s shoulders. “I’m taking you home now.”

There’s not any point in arguing now, and besides, if Nick is going to be all pressed up against Matt’s side like that, Matt’s not going to complain. 

They get a cab to Matt’s flat, and Nick sits in the middle of the back seat because Matt won’t let him go. “You’re always so clingy when you’re drunk, Finchy,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he minds. He’s never sounded like he minds, which is why Matt still does it. 

He gets to lean against Nick all the way up to his flat in the lift, and he even manages a sort of cuddle from behind while Nick gets them both glasses of water from the tap. “Drink up,” Nick says, pressing one of them into Matt’s hand. Matt loves it when Nick gets all mother hen on him.

Matt untangles himself from Nick when he’s done his water in order to go to the bathroom, where he strips down to his boxers and brushes his teeth and fully expects Nick to leave. Instead, when he comes back out, Nick is sitting on the edge of his bed in his underwear, looking at his phone. He looks up when Matt walks into the room. 

“You’re still here,” Matt says.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Nick says. “Can’t be arsed to go home at this point, not when I can just kip with you.”

Matt can feel himself furrowing his eyebrows, but he nips that in the bud quick lest Nick think he doesn’t want him there. “Right,” he says. “Well then.”

“Get all tucked in,” Nick says, flipping back the covers on the bed so that Matt can get in. He does, unable to fully process what’s happening. “I’ll be right back.”

Matt lies there in the dark, staring at the ceiling. It’s been ages since Nick stayed over, and now that he’s thinking about it, he doesn’t know why. This used to be commonplace and now it just seems slightly off. 

Nick comes back and crawls in next to Matt, shifting around to get comfortable and pulling the duvet up over their shoulders. Matt doesn’t know where to put his limbs, so he just stays stock still. A long minute passes, and then Nick says, “Where did your clingy bug go?” 

Matt takes it as an invitation to use Nick as a life size teddy bear. Nick sighs happily and rests his hand on Matt’s side. His head is tilted so that his cheek is pressed into Matt’s hair. He smells just like he always has, and Matt feels like he’s back in uni, squished into a tiny bed in residence after a night of drunken debauchery. 

Somewhere around the time Nick’s breathing evens out, Matt decides it’s best to not to be confused about this anymore and just go to sleep instead. 

-

Matt spends the rest of the week stressed out and making playlist after playlist when he’s not at work. He knows that he’ll never use a pre-planned playlist the way it is anyway, but he can’t help himself. 

Nick sends him encouraging texts sometimes, in between the ones of emojis and complaints about burnt toast and such, and on Saturday morning Matt wakes up to a string of exclamation marks. He sends back an inquiry as to how the hell Nick is possibly awake before noon, and Nick responds with a thumbs down emoji. 

Moments later Matt’s mobile is ringing. Matt is yawning when he answers it with a hello, which makes Nick snort at him.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty! You ready for the ball?” 

“Shut up,” Matt says. “Did Sleeping Beauty even go to a ball?”

“Sure she did. She was a princess, she did princess things.” Matt can hear the sounds of dishes clinking together in the background. “Seriously though, you good?”

Matt listens to a tap turn on, rubbing at his eyes. “I’ve just woken up.”

“I know, you’ve got your cute sleepy voice on.” The tap turns off. “D’you want me to come over before the party? Look at your playlists? Pick out your clothes for you?” 

That actually sounds wonderful to Matt’s still half asleep brain, which is why he shakes his head and then says, “No, I’m good. I’ll see you at the party.”

Matt can practically hear the pout in Nick’s voice. “You’re sure? Don’t wear something with stupid patterns on. Or do, maybe, that would make a statement. You’ll text, yeah?”

“I’ll text,” Matt confirms. “Now let me go, I’ve got to wee.”

Nick laughs. “All right, bye. Bye bye bye.”

“Okay, N’Sync,” Matt says, hitting end on his mobile’s screen. He allows himself five seconds to lie back and wish he could wake up to Nick’s voice every day for the rest of forever before he pushes it out of his mind and gets up.

-

Nick arrives at the party early, especially for him, and immediately sweet talks his way past security with two glasses of champagne, one of which he hands to Matt. “Hi, love,” he says. “Banging tunes.” 

“Uh huh,” Matt says, sipping at his champagne. “Like your jeans,” he adds. He’d spent the entire time Nick was at the bar trying not to be obvious about staring at his arse, not that there was anyone looking to see him being obvious. 

Nick beams. “Strong choice of t-shirt,” he says, tugging at the hem of Matt’s t-shirt. They have to stand close together to be able to hear what they’re saying over the music, and Matt hopes Nick isn’t planning on spending the whole night back here, because Matt won’t be able to do anything if he does. He’s already feeling a bit heady.

“It’s just stripes,” Matt says, because it is, thick black and white horizontal ones. 

Nick nods, one corner of his mouth quirking up, and Matt wants to smack him or kiss him. One of those. Maybe both. Matt reaches new depths of despair daily. 

Matt puts his glass down where he’s sure it won’t be disturbed, puts his headphones on so that one ear is covered and the other isn’t, and busies himself actually doing important DJ things so that he doesn’t have to look at Nick. This mostly consists of mixing a bunch of songs together and stealing glances at Nick between beat matching despite himself. 

“You’re good at that,” Nick murmurs into his ear after a bit, hooking his chin over Matt’s shoulder. Matt freezes up slightly, then forces himself to relax. He’s made a horrible mistake. 

“Don’t you have networking to do?” Matt asks, spinning into Chase & Status and letting the record play. 

“Later,” Nick says, and he insists on hanging around until the party is on its way to really rocking, at which point he reaches over Matt’s hands to play an air horn sound effect and skips away before Matt can say anything. 

Matt rolls his eyes and mentally cancels his plans to mix in an extended version of Nick’s current favourite song. He’ll end up doing it anyway, but it’s the principle of the thing.

DJ’ing comes easily to Matt, something about tracking the energy of the crowd and matching the music to it natural, and he gets lost in it for awhile, bouncing around behind the equipment like he’s part of the crowd. Something in his fingertips and toes tells him just when it’s the right time to drop the bass and mix in a chorus that gets everyone screaming along to the lyrics. He honestly never feels more alive than he does with bright lights flashing over the crowd in front of him and music pulsing into his eardrums. 

He can’t help but look for Nick every so often, tracking his progress around the room, tearing his eyes away when he watches Nick’s hips sway for too long. Half an hour before the end of his set he spots Nick grinding with a classically pretty boy, probably a model, his head dropped back on the model’s shoulder to say something into his ear, the model’s hands on Nick’s hips. Matt blinks and looks away, changes up the rhythm out of spite, and does the rest of his set with a bitter taste at the back of his throat. 

Matt turns the decks over to the next DJ almost gladly. He hates to leave a party, especially with adrenaline rushing just beneath his skin, but all he can think about as he packs away his things and pushes his hair off his sweaty forehead is going home and crawling into bed. To his surprise, Nick is waiting for him at the edge of the stage and immediately slings an arm around Matt’s shoulders. 

“Finchy!” he yells. “You were _amazing_ , I’m all jittery just remembering it. Let me buy you a drink!”

Matt had thought Nick would have left by now, maybe, or at least be busy elsewhere, not pressing himself along Matt’s side and grinning at him. “I shouldn’t--” Matt starts to say, intending to remind Nick that he’s got a short shift at the tea shop tomorrow, but Nick scoffs at him.

“Nonsense! At least one!” He starts dragging Matt over to the bar, and Matt lets him, helpless. 

The longer Matt spends with Nick, the clearer it becomes that Nick is spectacularly drunk and at that point he always reaches just after the extremely cheerful portion of the evening where he’s useless for much of anything. He nurses the pint Nick bought him and lets Nick lean against him, and eventually he asks, “Should I get you home?” He expects Nick to decline and swan off to find the pretty model or whatever, but Nick nods. 

“Yeah, Finchy,” he murmurs into Matt’s neck. “Take me home.”

Matt tries not to think about the implications of that, even as the soft way Nick had said _take me home_ repeats itself over and over in his head while they’re sitting in the silent cab, the space between them impossibly wide. 

When they get to Nick’s flat Nick gets out of the car like it’s on fire, and Matt is left to fish Nick’s wallet out of the pocket of the jacket he left behind and pay the driver. He scrambles out after Nick and finds him standing in the middle of the pavement, arms crossed and looking a bit out of it. Matt drapes Nick’s jacket over his shoulders and guides him carefully inside. 

Once they’re inside Nick goes off in the direction of the toilet, and Matt has a moment of doubt where he figures he should just head home right now before Nick comes back and looks at him strangely for still being there. Then he remembers Nick taking care of him and making him drink water Tuesday night and goes to get Nick a glass. 

He’s still standing awkwardly in the corridor when Nick emerges, skinny jeans stripped off, shirt swapped for a soft white t-shirt, and glasses on instead of contacts, but at least this way he has something to offer Nick. Nick smiles when he takes the water. “Here’s a switch,” he jokes. “You going to stay?” 

Matt shakes his head. “Can’t, morning shift.”

Nick frowns and doesn’t respond to that, just ambles into the bedroom and finishes his water standing next to the bed, putting the empty glass on his bedside table.

“You good?” Matt asks from the doorway, not wanting to leave if Nick’s not okay. 

“Good,” Nick confirms, crawling into bed. He’s still got his glasses on, blinking across the room at Matt. 

“Your glasses,” Matt says, gesturing. Nick’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t move to take his glasses off, so Matt walks over and eases them off Nick’s face himself, carefully folding them and putting them safely next the empty glass. He’s about to say good night and see himself out, but Nick grabs his wrist and tugs him back so sharply that he sits down hard on the edge of the bed. 

“M’Matty,” Nick slurs quietly, “tucking me in. C’mere.”

Matt is opening his mouth to ask how exactly Nick expects him to get any closer when Nick kisses him, lips pressing against the corner of Matt’s mouth and slipping over his bottom lip, barely retreating before softly kissing him again, close lipped and sweet. Matt’s muscles seize up, his breath freezes in his lungs, and the lingering ringing in his ears intensifies. 

It barely lasts a moment, hardly even noticeable if it wasn’t everything Matt has been imagining for years, and then Nick is pulling away and flopping onto his pillow, muttering a good night and rolling over. 

Matt sits still another moment, shell-shocked, and then he gets to his unsteady feet and takes Nick’s empty glass to refill it from the bathroom sink, grabbing the paracetamol from the medicine cabinet while he’s there, and leaving them both on the bedside table. 

He turns out the lights as he leaves and locks the door behind him.

 _Best not think about it_ , he tells himself as he walks in the direction of the tube. _Best not._

-

Matt is sitting behind the counter at work, flipping through a magazine and not really taking it in, when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out to find a snapchat from Nick, and he hovers his thumb hesitantly over it for a moment, mentally preparing himself for a potential selfie. 

It’s not a selfie, as it turns out, but rather a picture of Nick’s bedside table, the glass and paracetamol Matt had left there what feels like days ago but was really only hours and the message _good morningggggg cheers x._

He watches the seconds on the picture tick down until it disappears. He’d been rather expecting something more than that, all things considered, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with this simple offering.

He deliberates over it for awhile, nervously walking around the shop straightening things, serving a couple customers that come in, and eventually, when he’s managed to sit back down, Matt takes a picture of the empty tea shop and captions it _you’re welcome x._

-

Matt gives up all pretence of trying not to think about Nick kissing him by the time he’s lying in bed on Sunday night. He thinks about it constantly, on the way to and from work, while trying to watch telly, while organising his music collection for the hundredth time. He especially thinks about it when he talks to Nick on the phone, when Nick texts him, when he’s listening to Nick on the radio and texting in to tell him to stop going on about how good Matt is at DJ’ing. There are always words falling out of Nick’s mouth, one after the other, but none of them fit together in a way that tells Matt what Nick is really feeling, and he’s left empty handed and frustrated.

The thing is, Matt doesn’t know what Nick is thinking, if it’s _oh God, why’d I do that, he probably thinks I like him_ , or _I don’t like him_ , or _that was funny, I was so drunk I kissed Finchy, what a laugh_ , or if he just flat out doesn’t remember it at all. He doesn’t think Nick was blackout drunk, but he’s clinging to the hope that he was, because he’d _wanted_ Nick to kiss him, wanted it for ages, but he never once considered that Nick would do it and then pretend it didn’t happen.

It is, in a way, even worse than Nick just laughing it off, because Matt doesn’t _know._ He doesn’t like it when he can’t put a puzzle together, much less when he doesn’t have all the pieces.

So he keeps going through life knowing what it feels like when Nick’s lips are against his and not saying anything about it when he’s sitting across from Nick for a quick lunch or any of the many other times he interacts with Nick in a single day.

It’s Thursday evening when the email comes in. Matt is sitting on his sofa, laptop perched on his lap, thinking for the billionth time how much he wishes he hadn’t been so shocked he couldn’t remember how to kiss Nick back, when his inbox auto-refreshes and there it is.

He clicks it open and reads through it once, twice, and then picks up his mobile to text Nick a question. 

_Yeah absolutely, that club is really up and coming, had some great reviews lately! Why???_ Nick texts back promptly. 

Matt’s hands might be shaking slightly as he types _They just offered me a potential permanent DJ position, maybe headlining and club promo in the future if I’m up for it,_ but if they are no one will ever know but him. 

Unsurprisingly, his phone starts ringing not two minutes later. He’s barely answered before Nick is screaming in his ear. “Finchy! You’ve _made it_!” 

“Yeah,” Matt says, grinning. “They said they were really impressed with my work at the party last weekend, and that they’d like me to make up some sample mixes for them, but it’ll mostly be a formality and they’d really love to have me.”

“Fuck yeah they would,” Nick says. “Damn. Must’ve been all those times I mentioned you on the radio.” Matt can practically see him raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

Matt rolls his eyes. “All right, sweetheart, you just keep thinking that,” he teases, and Nick laughs at him.

There’s an awkward lull in the conversation, and then Nick says, “I’ve gotta go, radio stuff, but I just wanted to yell at you. See you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, tomorrow, definitely,” Matt agrees. “I’ll listen tonight.”

“Great, I’ll give you a shoutout,” Nick says. “Not that I don’t talk about you all the time anyway, but y’know.”

Matt does know. “Yeah, give your producer love from me,” he says.

“I’m sure FiFi will send kisses in return,” Nick says. “Bye!”

He’s rung off before Matt can say goodbye in return, as is typical. Matt sighs and busies himself replying to the email and throwing together some songs that he might use for the sample mixes he promises to send as soon as possible. 

Later, when Matt has migrated to his bed and is tuned into the radio, Matt distractedly mutes Nick’s show during a record to check if a song sounds the way he remembers it sounding, which it does not, and when he unmutes, Nick is mid-sentence.

“--news, so we’re very excited, aren’t we?”

Fiona huffs loudly and says, “I’m sure we would be if we knew what it was.” 

Nick scoffs. “Don’t be silly, you all know that’s he’s a wonderful DJ--”

“Because you keep saying so,” Fiona interrupts.

“--and he’s going places, and that’s all you need to know to be excited. Cheers, Matt Fincham, this one’s for you.” A song Matt has expressed great distaste for on multiple occasions starts to play, and Matt automatically rolls his eyes even as his chest feels constricted with emotion. 

It’s stupid the hold Nick has over him, and it’s stupid how Matt wants to cry even as he texts Nick to tell him off, and it’s stupid that Nick texts back a nonsensical sheep emoji instead of telling Matt that he’d quite liked kissing him and fancies doing it again, proper like this time. 

Matt doesn’t have a shift at the tea shop the next day, and he ends up staying up all night being overly emotional and making mixtapes, which is probably not the best combination. He emails Nick downloads of all the preliminary finished mixes around 5 AM, asking for his opinion, and falls asleep still running over track selections in his head. 

-

Matt wakes up just before noon on Friday feeling like he’s mildly hungover and stumbles to the shower to try to make himself feel more human. It half works, and he figures that coffee will do the trick for the other half. 

Nick texts him while he’s fiddling with the coffee machine asking if he wants to grab a late lunch with him, and Matt abandons the coffee machine with contempt and texts back an affirmative. 

To no one’s surprise, he beats Nick to the restaurant they’d agreed on, and he wastes no time ordering himself coffee. Nick comes in only five minutes later and full on beams at Matt as he sits down across from him. 

“I spent all morning listening to your mixes,” Nick says, not bothering with a hello. “I love them. I love the third one especially, it has all our favourite songs on it, did you do that on purpose?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, barrelling on with, “The one from when we met, from graduation, from the time we christened my new flat by getting drunk and lying on the living room floor saying deep things and you were--” He cuts himself off, looking away from Matt, and then repeats, “Did you do that on purpose?” 

Matt takes a sip of his coffee, trying to steady himself. “Slow down, mate,” he jokes. “I haven’t even eaten yet today.”

Nick laughs. “All right, all right, but don’t think I’m letting this go.”

Considering Matt isn’t one hundred percent sure whether he did it on purpose or not, he rather wishes Nick would. He does drop it for awhile at least, prattling on about radio things and such while Matt nods and laughs at him. 

They’re pretty much done their food, Nick poking at the last of his while telling a story about Fiona tripping in the studio the previous night, when Matt says, “What did you think of the second mix?” 

Nick stops mid-sentence and stares at him. 

“Sorry,” Matt amends. “I just, um, that was the one I was most, uh, nervous about.” It’s a lie, at least in the way Nick will interpret it, because it’s not that Matt is nervous about it not being a good example of his work. It’s more that the mix was, however inadvertently, an expression of all his feelings, and he’d almost regretted sending it to Nick because it seemed so obvious when Matt looked at the track list. 

“It, um,” Nick says. He looks caught off-guard, which doesn’t make sense to Matt, unless he’s just thrown off by Matt interrupting his story, which would be weird in itself. People interrupt him all the time because if they didn’t they’d never get a word in edgewise. “It’s probably the best one, in terms of selection and mixing, actually. I’d send that one if you’re only sending one.”

That wasn’t what Matt had meant, but he doesn’t really know what he was expecting Nick to say. “Okay,” he says in what he hopes is a casual tone. “Thanks, Nick.”

It’s awkwardly silent as their waiter clears their dishes away and brings the bill. Nick mentions while they’re paying that he’s going to meet Aimee and asks if Matt wants to come, but Matt shakes his head. He thinks Nick looks relieved, but he might have been making that up.

Matt goes home and sits on his sofa aimlessly, feeling out of sorts. Eventually he thinks to get out his laptop and email the club people the two best mixes, and then he puts on the second one and thinks _fuck it._ He pours himself a glass of wine, middle of the afternoon be damned. 

He’s nursing his second glass of wine, still sitting on the sofa with the second mix on its third run through, when there’s a knock at the door. He pauses the music and goes to answer it, glass still clutched in his hand. 

He’d really had no clue who it might be, and when he sees that it’s Nick he blinks in confusion. “Hi,” Nick says. “Can I come in?” 

Matt nods. “What are you doing here?” he asks as he closes the door behind Nick. “I thought you were with Aimee?” 

“Yeah, I was,” Nick says. “Have you, er… been texting anybody?”

Matt shakes his head, not even sure where he’d left his mobile, and Nick nods, looking away.

“So…” Matt says questioningly, tilting his head. Nick merely shrugs, standing next to the kitchen table with his hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his jacket. Matt frowns and takes a sip of his wine. He’s feeling a bit annoyed that Nick is being so weird, and he’s a little reckless, liquid courage and all that, and so he asks, “Do you remember that time you kissed me?” He almost laughs at himself. He’s making it sound like it happened years ago rather than less than a week. 

Nick’s head snaps up from where he’d been studying the floor. His eyes are wide, staring at Matt, and his mouth is dropped open the tiniest bit. It would be hilarious if Matt wasn’t so completely upset now. “I--er,” Nick stammers.

Matt rolls his eyes. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Nick says finally, quiet. “I remember.”

Matt stares at him, honestly a bit shocked. He’d spent so much time trying to convince himself that Nick had forgotten that he must have started to actually believe it. “You do? Why didn’t you _say_ anything then?” 

Nick visibly bristles. “Why didn’t _you_?” he throws back, and he immediately looks sorry. “I mean. I guess I just… thought it would be easier.”

“How is that easier?” Matt asks. “I’ve been driving myself mad.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Nick says quickly. “It’s all right, it’s already behind us. Nothing has to change.”

Matt is shaking his head by the time Nick is halfway through talking. His initial anger is melting away now, leaving behind only helpless love and frustration. “No, you don’t… you don’t get it,” he says, gesturing with his hands like that will make Nick understand. 

Maybe it does, because Nick looks a little like he’s having a revelation. “You didn’t kiss me back,” he says slowly, making it sound like a question. 

Matt feels entirely too self-aware, like Nick is staring straight through him at his jumbled up insides. “But, um…” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact. “That…” He takes a deep breath, straightening his shoulders and looking straight back at Nick. “That doesn’t mean that I didn’t want to.” 

“Oh,” Nick says on an inhaled breath, more a gasp than a word. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah, I…” Matt looks at his wine glass nervously and puts it down on the table, fidgeting with his fingers. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m kind of in love with you.”

Nick laughs, which makes Matt frown at him. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” Nick says. “This is just so surreal.”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees. He wants to tug Nick’s hands out of his pockets so he can hold them, but he’s a bit afraid to touch Nick. 

“I love you too,” Nick says, and Matt feels like someone took a vacuum to his lungs. “I have for ages. Like, I realised when you were lying on the floor, completely pissed and singing along to DHT. ‘Listen to Your Heart’ and all that.” He laughs again, short and light. “I’ve wanted to tell you that story for years.”

Matt can’t help himself, he laughs too. He presses a hand to his mouth, then reaches for Nick. Nick meets him halfway, wrapping his hands around Matt’s wrists and stepping in close to him. “You’re stupid,” he tells Nick. 

“No, _you’re_ stupid,” Nick retorts. He’s smiling, face so close to Matt’s that Matt could count his freckles and eyelashes if he wanted to. He kinds of does want to, although maybe not right this second. 

“Is this because of my mix?” Matt asks, suddenly remembering how flustered Nick had gotten when Matt had asked about it. He’d been trying to cover it, but in retrospect it’s completely obvious.

“Uh, well, that and Aimee threatening to phone you herself and do a dramatic reading of every text I’ve ever sent her about you. And then possibly castrating us both.”

They both shudder the tiniest bit and then laugh at each other. “Bless that woman,” Matt says.

“Should send her a fruit basket,” Nick jokes. Matt smiles, and they both fall silent, staring at each other. Nick’s hands slide down to tangle their fingers together. “Kiss me back,” Nick says softly, and Matt honestly couldn’t say who kissed who first this time, they fall into each other so easily.

Kissing Nick is infinitely better, it turns out, when both of them are completely coherent and apprised of the situation. Matt isn’t all that surprised. 

-

Two weeks and change later, Matt is staring down at the decks at his brand new job.“I don’t think I can do this,” he says. The club has a proper DJ booth on the edge of the VIP area of the second floor loft, and it’s so official and intimidating, and the dance floor is so _large_ , that Matt genuinely means it, even though he’s normally secure in his abilities. 

“You’re being stupid,” Nick says, matter of fact, wrapping the hem of Matt’s bright green t-shirt around his hand. Matt is getting used to hearing that from him and saying it himself. They’d made a pact to always let each other know when they were being stupid, even about little things. It’s been going well so far. “You know you can do this. Everyone’s going to love you.”

Matt inhales deeply and takes his time letting it out. “Right, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” Nick says. He moves some of the faders just to be annoying and grins at Matt. “Play me something good, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” Matt says. 

Nick kisses him, quick and easy, before bounding out of the booth with a shouted, “Good luck!”

“Cheers, love!” Matt shouts back, and he’s smiling despite himself when he moves the levels back to where they should be. He wouldn’t change a thing about how they got here, he thinks, not one stupid second of it. 

When he presses play, he’s thinking about the way Nick smiles at him.


End file.
